The Way We Were
by fennecfawkes
Summary: Neville/Harry preslash with some slash at the end. Prequel to "Brilliant." Relationships, mistakes, and good decisions past in the lives of Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter. I don't own these characters, and this isn't epilogue compliant.
1. You and Jack Sloper?

**May 1999**

"I've never kissed a boy before," Jack Sloper whispers, reaching for my hand.

"Jack, you don't have to whisper. Silencing Charm."

He blushes. "Right. Well, anyway, I haven't."

"Neither have I. Nor a girl. But we should be able to figure it out between the two of us, right?"

Jack grins and reaches for my hand, giving it a squeeze. We're sitting together on my bed, my four-poster in the Gryffindor common room. It's my eighth year, his seventh, and he's come in to the room under the guise of studying. Since it's already 11:30 at night, I'm fairly sure Dean and Seamus saw right through that excuse, but neither of them seemed to mind, so long as I keep the curtains closed. Ron and Harry are God knows where, and Jack is licking his lips and leaning toward me, a vaguely expectant look on his face. His nose is still a bit off center from the time he hit himself in the face with a Beater bat, but he's cute, brown hair and big blue eyes and always smiling. There's a chip in one of his front teeth from that same incident, and the chip is cute, too. Really, he's not as dumb as I thought he was then. He's rather bright, and very friendly, and, as far as I know, the only other ponce in all of Gryffindor. So I suppose I'm pretty lucky.

It's not bad, the kiss. I don't feel much of anything at all at first, just lips in need of some balm, any balm, and a firm hand on either shoulder. Then his tongue is in my mouth, and that's when odd heat pools in the pit of my stomach and I have the sudden need to fasten my arms around Jack's neck. He breaks off, just for a second, to smile at me and brush his lips against my cheek before kissing me on the mouth again. It's brilliant, really. Granted, he's not Harry Potter, but I knew that going into this. I knew that when he asked me if I maybe wanted to go into Hogsmeade with him sometime, and I knew that when he gracelessly walked into the dorm with his spellbooks in hand. He's not the one I've had a crush on for three years. But I can deal with that, especially when he's kissing me like this, slipping his fingers under my collar, running them along the top of my chest.

"How much do you want to do?" I ask, and he freezes.

"I hadn't ever thought of that," says Jack, backing away slightly, keeping his hold on my shoulders.

"Well..." I lick my lips, as though the dryness of his have transferred to mine. "I have. And I'm not ready for, you know, all the way."

"Neither am I," he says, sounding relieved.

"But maybe if you wanted to wank each other off sometime, we could try that," I suggest. I see him blush deeply in the low light of the room.

"I'd like that," he says, dropping his voice to a needless whisper again. I grin, because it's cute, really, the nerves and the whispering and the complete lack of experience on both our parts. He leans in to kiss me, and we do that for a while, just simple snogging and running our hands along each other's chests and backs, nothing more for the night. He leaves by 1 in the morning. As I part my curtains and lift my hand in a wave to Jack, who smiles almost shyly and waves back, Harry and Ron come in.

Harry looks at me. I can't read his expression. "You and Jack Sloper?" he asks, cocking his head to the side, examining me. I feel utterly naked as I nod and shrug and smile.

"Brilliant," says Harry, smiling back. "Sloper's a nice guy. Good on you for finding someone." He says goodnight as he slips off his jeans and pulls off his shirt, and I shut my curtains again, because I want to be happy with Jack, and something tells me that won't happen if I can see Harry Potter without his shirt again.


	2. I'm Not Jealous, I'm Just Confused

**December 1999**

"What was that about?" I ask Ginny. I'm not angry so much as annoyed. We've just left the Ministry Christmas party, where she took two turns under the mistletoe with another bloke, and not an anonymous one. No, my girlfriend kissed Dean Thomas, and she did it twice.

"What was what about?"

"You. Dean. You kissing Dean."

"It was nothing, Harry. It's just some innocent pecks under the mistletoe."

"Looked a lot more like snogging to me," I say.

"Are you jealous?"

"I'm not jealous, I'm just confused. If you wanted to kiss someone, shouldn't it have been me? You know, your boyfriend?"

"You're cute when you're angry," she says, half smiling.

"You're cute when you're being a total bint."

She hooks her arm through mine and we Apparate, rematerializing in the living room of Grimmauld Place.

"You know it's only you for me, right?" asks Ginny, looking up at me. "I don't care about Dean the way I care about you. I like kissing someone without commitment, sure. But I like snogging you and meaning it more." She does that then, and I feel myself forgiving her. Again.

But after she's fallen asleep beside me and I've stared at the ceiling for a solid fifteen minutes, I think about how many times we've argued lately. We sound like pre-relationship Ron and Hermione. And it's worse, much worse, when we get partnered together on cases at the Ministry. Ginny's even worse with paperwork than I am, and her wandwork is sometimes shoddy; she's fierce, and she's frightening when she's worked up, but she doesn't have the kind of skill I would prefer in an Auror partner. Over time, it's made her less attractive, less fun to be around. And I hate that. I really do. I think about the other part of me, the louder part, right now, the part that wants to break up with her and just try out being single for a while. As usual, I do what I can to quiet these feelings and think about Quidditch instead. I form my perfect roster in my head until I fall asleep.

The next day, I tell Hestia, the head of the Aurors, that I'd like a different partner.

"But I get results with you and Ginny," she says, sounding confused. "And aren't you ... aren't the two of you together?"

"That's part of the problem, Ms. Jones."

"Hestia."

"Sorry. The business and pleasure mixing, though, it's not preferable."

She nods. "We can't all be Frank and Alice Longbottom, can we?"

I shake my head and wonder if she knows where Frank and Alice are now, feeling a pang for Nev as I do any time the two of them come up as shining examples of Aurordom. "No. Only two of them in the world."

"Neville's well on his way. But don't tell him that. You know how he gets, with the ego." Neville's low self confidence is a bit of a departmental joke, one he's in on. "And you're practically already there, Harry. I'll put you with Sturgis for a bit, give you a feel for working with someone older and more experienced. But I really think you and Ginny could do good work together."

"We can give it a go later. Thanks so much, Ms.—Hestia."

She grins and waves her hand at me as I walk out.

"What was that about?" Ron asks me when I get back to my desk.

"Just asking for a new partner," I say in as casual a tone as possible.

"You don't want to work with Gin anymore?"

"We're really, really bad partners, Ron."

He looks concerned. "You want to talk about it?"

I hesitate before saying, "Sometime, yeah. When I figure out what's wrong with me."

"It might not be you, mate."

I smile at him and go back to the heaping pile of case files in my inbox, glad that for the time being, I won't have to pencil my girlfriend's name in on my reports.


	3. Well, There That Is, Then

**May 2000**

"You don't seem too broken up about this, Jack," I say, taking a bite of his cotton candy. We're at a Muggle carnival near Piccadilly Circus, sharing sweets and enjoying what seems to be our very last date.

"I never imagined we'd be together forever," he says cheerfully, licking at my ice cream cone. "Ooh, what flavor is this?"

"Banana chocolate cheesecake."

"It's delicious."

"I know. But what do you mean, you never imagined that?"

He shrugs. "It was mostly convenient, right? I mean, you're gay, I'm gay, we were both Gryffindors and relatively handsome and smart, so it was bound to happen eventually."

"That's all fair. So you've never been in love with me, then?"

"Have you ever been in love with me?" he challenges.

"Can't say I have."

He looks satisfied. "Well, there that is, then. We just quite like each other, and we've figured out that we're better as friends than lovers. Not that we've ever gotten that far."

I laugh. "Nope. And we won't. Sorry about that part."

"That's fine. Bringing each other off's been brilliant." An older woman shoots Jack a dirty look and we both snicker like the children we are.

"Do you want to go on the roller coaster?" he asks. "It looks ancient and we could very well die on it, but at least we'd die together."

"I can agree to that." We step to the back of the line.

"So, Neville Longbottom. What are you actually looking for in a boyfriend?"

"Nothing, right now. But if I was, he wouldn't be too much different from you."

"Physical differences?"

I shrug. "Different colored eyes, maybe. Darker hair, not so polished. Shorter. Leaner."

"Sounds a lot like someone else I know." He smiles wryly. "Still have a crush on him, then?"

"I never should've told you that."

"You really shouldn't have. Want to tell me the story of when you first realized you loved him?"

"Shut it. I don't _love _him. And no. I don't."

"Was that when you knew you were gay, too?"

"Yeah, it was, actually. I didn't really ever have a crush on anyone before that. I don't know how normal that is."

Jack shrugs. "I didn't have a crush till sixth year. And it was on you. So there's that."

"Really?"

He nods. "Really."

"That's adorable, Jack."

"Which is why I never told you while we were actually dating. Fair, right?"

"Quite. Wish I'd been as bright as you on that one." We load into the roller coaster. "I should warn you, I have nerves of steel and if you scream, you're only going to embarrass yourself."

"I know you do. Don't you remember our first date outside of a Hogsmeade day?" The roller coaster is smooth and mild enough that we're able to carry on our pleasant conversation as it goes.

"You clung to me so hard I thought I'd have bruises, and just because we were up in the Eye."

"And you thought it was just hilarious, but you wouldn't laugh because you're too much of a sweetheart. You were so cute that day, getting me a flat soda and rubbing my back until I calmed back down."

"We've had a good run, haven't we?"

"Damn right we have." He grins. "You're a good first boyfriend, Neville. And I'm really glad this is ending the way it is, no fighting, no yelling, just knowing we're never really going to be in love." The roller coaster hits a bit of a tight turn and Jack shrieks.

I slide my arm across his shoulders. "Don't worry. I'm here to protect you for at least another hour or two," I assure him.

He rolls his eyes and leans into me. "My hero."


	4. Breakups Aren't Supposed To Be Happy

**August 2001**

"I can't believe we bollocksed it up again," Ginny says, pulling her hair back into a ponytail and sighing deeply as we step into the living room at Grimmauld Place. I'm living there on my own, but she stays over most nights. At least, she did stay over most nights till Hestia partnered us again. Now ... well, now, we mostly just fight a lot and she's too mad to sleep in the same bed as me. Not that we did that all that much, anyway. Since we're not having sex—we've only done that twice ever—Ginny doesn't see the need to sleep next to me. It's too bad, really, because I like having her warmth there. She doesn't understand why I don't want to have sex. I don't, either. I'm a 20-year-old man; that's supposed to be all I want, right? But I don't. I look at her, and her chest practically falling out of her loose fitting tank top, and her flannel pajama pants riding low on her hips, and I just don't feel anything at all, not anymore. It's the third time in a row we've struck out on finding this necromancer in Surrey, and all I feel is frustration.

"We followed all the leads. You got us where we were supposed to do. I just don't know what our next move could be," she says, settling down next to me on the couch but nowhere near touching me. "Unless that's not where we were supposed to be."

"Are you saying I made a mistake?" I ask, trying to keep any edge out of my tone and failing miserably.

"No," she says, eyes narrowed. "I'm just saying that maybe our information wasn't correct."

"So my research isn't good enough."

"Good God, Harry, quit being so defensive!"

"I'm not being defensive!"

"Yes! You are! God, all we ever do anymore is fight. You won't shag me. You won't even look at me when I talk to you. What is going on with us?"

"I don't know. Maybe..." My throat feels dry, like the words I need to say are lodged in it. Suddenly, they scramble to get out and succeed. "Maybe we should break up."

"Break up?" She looks at me, all wide eyes and wild red hair and disbelieving expression.

"Ginny, if we can't work together, then how do you think we could ever _be _together? I love you, you're my best friend, really, but I don't think I can do this anymore. I don't think I can do 'us' anymore."

"So you're giving up."

I sigh. "Do I ever give up? You know I'll dwell on this for about three months before deciding whether I did or did not make the right decision, Gin."

She smiles wryly. "I can't fault you for knowing yourself so damn well." She tugs at a loose thread on the couch cushion underneath her. "So, are we going to say we'll still be friends, then quit talking and eventually reconnect out of sheer desperation for human contact?"

I laugh. This is easier than it should be. "I actually do think we can be friends. You're great. You know I think so. Just not the two of us together, that's not so great."

She nods. "I agree. I've been thinking that since Hestia put us back together, you know, but I didn't want to say anything."

"Same."

She takes a breath. "I got offered an interim position at Hogwarts. Hooch is taking a break to coach the Holyhead Harpies' new roster, so I'm going to be the flight instructor at Hogwarts for the year."

"Really? That's brilliant."

"I know." Ginny smiles. "I said yes already. Just that I didn't even talk to you about it, that probably should've been a sign, right?"

"Probably. But we're pretty thick."

"Speak for yourself. I'm going to get changed and go home. Thanks for not making this weird, Harry."

"Thanks for not throwing anything at me."

She walks upstairs, a small smile on her face, and I wonder to myself how much happier this is making her than staying together would. Much, much happier, I'm guessing, just like it's doing for me.

"Breakups aren't supposed to be happy, are they?" I ask Neville Longbottom the next day. He's about to start working as a professor at Hogwarts—one of the youngest in history, I've heard—and he's putting in his final hours as an Auror.

Neville shrugs. "I was happy when I broke up with Jack in May, and so was he. Sometimes changing your life in a radical way can be a really good thing."

I nod. "We're still going to see you around here sometimes, right, Nev?"

"I hope so. I don't really know any of the other professors, Flitwick, Hagrid, and McGonagall aside."

"And Ginny."

"Yeah. That'll help. But sure, I'll be back. Why? Will you miss me?" He winks and I feel an odd flush reach my cheeks.

"Of course, sweetheart," I say dryly. "Don't forget to owl."

Neville curls his fingers in a wave as he walks out the door. Changing your life in a radical way can be a really good thing, he said. I think about what life change could mean for someone like me for the rest of the day and into the night, when I can't sleep and all I can think of is that 50% I've buried for so long.


	5. If That's Something You're Interested In

**April 2003**

"I'm sorry you didn't get the job," I say.

Anthony Goldstein, who didn't get the post of Transfiguration professor as I had guessed he would, shrugs. "Well, the wee ones don't even know I'm here, so at least I still _have _a job," he says, referring to the goblins at Gringotts, where he works with the vault's enchantments. "I suppose we can't all be a boy wonder like Neville Longbottom."

I blush. "I was groomed to be the Herbology professor from my first year," I say in protest. "It's not a big deal at all that I work here."

"You undersell yourself, Neville." He puts a hand on my shoulder, a sturdy, warm hand that feels nicer than anything I've felt in a long time. Oh, God. If a hand on my shoulder makes me half hard, what would actual physical contact do? I look at Anthony. He's good-looking, gorgeous, even, bright hazel eyes and thick, wavy brown hair and a sturdy, muscular frame that's clearly visible even through robes. And right now, he's smiling at me, completing the package. A package I wouldn't hate unwrapping.

"Would you like to go out sometime?" I ask without thinking. Really, I'm still shy. I'll never shake that. But there's something about knowing you won't see someone so fit if you don't have an excuse for it that flips a switch somewhere within.

"I'd love to," says Anthony, lips unturned, teeth showing now in a dazzling grin. At least, I find it dazzling, enough that I don't have any kind of follow up. He looks amused. "What would we do?"

"Dunno, exactly. I haven't been on a date in a while."

"This would be a date, then." His grin turns more flirtatious.

"If you want it to be," I say. "Do you like going out to eat?"

"Not at the Three Broomsticks or anything like that," he says, wrinkling his nose slightly. "I prefer Muggle restaurants."

"Muggle restaurants are fine. Any favorites?"

"There's one on the West End, Andalucia. They have tapas—you know, little share plates of food?"

"Never been to anything like that."

"It's settled, then," he says, rubbing his hands together. "I'll meet you here on, let's say, Friday at 7, and we'll go to Andalucia and then I can show you my flat." Anthony doesn't look at all shy as he makes this pronouncement. I try to do the same.

"Brilliant," I say. "I'll see you then."

Anthony's a great date, friendly and polite to everyone around him, boisterous, full of stories about goblins and gold and whatever else it is you come across at a wizarding bank. I tell him about my students and their alarming gaps in knowledge and the time Augustus Boot smuggled a Mandrake out of the greenhouse to keep it as a pet. By the end of the second bottle of wine, we're both laughing so hard and so often I think we might pass out. That's when Anthony takes the check to much protest from my end and we Apparate to his flat, a well decorated one room in South Bank. He kisses me as soon as we're on the couch together, and it turns into a teenage-feeling snogging session, lots of his tongue along my throat and my hands under his shirt.

"I like you a lot, Neville," he says, looking down and me and my body pinned under his. "I'd like to have a relationship with you, if that's something you're interested in."

"It is," I say. "I'm not sure that I'm a very good boyfriend, though. I've only had a couple years of practice."

"So far, you're doing just fine," he assures me, running his hand along my face. "Though we may have to do something about that stubble."

"That's a trademark."

"Then I guess I can learn to live with it." Anthony kisses me on the forehead, then the nose, then the cheek, then the mouth. Before moving on to my chin, he says, "This would be easier if I'd gotten the job."

"We'll just have to work at it, then. You're not so far away, and there are nights and weekends."

"Quickies in the prefects' bath would've been brilliant, though." He laughs at my horrified expression. "I take it you don't want to have sex tonight, then?"

"About that, I might be a bit slow there."

His facial features soften. "We don't have to go any faster than you want to, Neville. Just say the word, and I'll back off."

"I don't want you to right now. I just ... I'm going to need some time."

He nods. "You can have that. You can have as much of it as you need. I mean it when I say I want a relationship. And that's not just snogging and shagging and wanking each other off." He pauses. "Although those parts aren't so bad."

I laugh. "So have you put it together, then?"

"It's OK that you're a virgin."

"Knew you were a Ravenclaw for a reason."

"I've only slept with one person, though, and that was in school, and I was still busy convincing myself I was straight. So if we do have sex, and I hope we will, it'll still be a first for both of us."

"You're very forward, you know," I say. "It's not a bad thing. It's good, really. Jack—Jack Sloper, my last boyfriend—he was very shy, never upfront about anything at all. I like boldness. I like you, Anthony."

"And I'm glad it's me on top of you and not Jack Sloper." Anthony grins and we snog for a bit, eventually falling asleep on the couch together in two pairs of Anthony's pajamas, limbs fully entangled. I wake up to find his lips pressed softly against my neck, his eyes still closed, heartbeat still steady.

"You fell asleep kissing me," I say quietly. Anthony's eyes slowly open and he smiles, looking sleepy.

"Couldn't stop," he said. "Too cute. What do you want for breakfast? I have toast, bacon, bacon, and toast."

"Toast and bacon sound good," I say, smiling at him. He uncurls himself from me and I follow him into the kitchen, sitting at his counter as he turns on the stove and gets out a pan. It's lovely, I think to myself, feeling wanted, feeling appreciated. Every time Anthony looks at me, his lips curve upward and his eyes meet mine and I know that this means something to him. And it means something to me, too. I just hope it means the same thing to both of us.


	6. You Know You'd Be Brilliant At it

**October 2004**

"Breakups aren't supposed to be this pleasant, you know," I say to Blaise.

"No," he says, laughing and shaking his head. He's changed so much since school, having shed his pureblood bias and content to mix in all kinds of social circles. It's gotten him high up at the Ministry; there's talk that he'll be Junior Undersecretary in a few years' time. "No, they're really not. But our relationship's never been normal, has it?"

"Why do you say that?" We're sitting opposite each other at the Three Broomsticks, the site of our first date nearly two years before. We called things off last night for any number of reasons but agreed that we couldn't sever ties entirely. We get on too well now.

"We never acted like a couple. Not once."

"But we snogged. We did that a lot. You can't deny that."

Blaise laughs. "No, I can't, but how much more did we do than that?"

I look around to make sure no one's in earshot and say, "Bringing each other off sometimes. We did that."

"Key word being 'sometimes,' Harry. I swear, I haven't been so good at wanking since fifth year at Hogwarts or so."

"But maybe the physical part's not so important," I say, ignoring the fact that I, too, am as stellar as wanking as I was in my desperately horny teenage years.

"Well, can you remember having romantic feelings for me? Ever?"

"There was a time when we were at your great uncle's chateau and you brought out that iced wine and we drank it in the hot tub..."

"That was a year and a half ago, and you were already drunk off the elf-made wine."

"Was not!"

"Such a child," Blaise says affectionately, patting me on the hand and taking a sip of bourbon. "And I never really felt that way about you, either. And I'm sure not heartbroken to hear me say so."

"Nope, can't say I am."

"See? Our relationship is—was—completely senseless. We were just mates who kissed on occasion. And now we're just mates."

"It's better this way, isn't it?"

"Much. I've wanted to ask Emma Vanity out for months but there was the whole issue of having a boyfriend."

"Vanity? She's at least 20 years older than you are!"

Blaise shrugs. "It's never bothered my mother, doesn't bother me. You going to finish those?"

"How you stay skinny is beyond me," I mutter, pushing my plate of chips toward him. "Well, I suppose this opens me up to a world of possibilities I won't pursue."

"Don't be so mopey. You're fit. You're famous. And your personality isn't at all as repugnant as it was when we were kids."

"Oi!"

"Oh, I found something out that might interest you."

"I was never repugnant."

"Of course you weren't," he says, placating me. "Anyway, I was talking with Neville—"

"Longbottom?"

Blaise rolls his eyes. "How many Nevilles do you know?"

"Where'd you run into him?"

"Hogsmeade. He was in the Apothecary. Why does it matter? What I'm trying to tell you is that the year after next, Professor Scamander is leaving Hogwarts and the Defence teaching position will be open again. They're starting the search next school year."

"Really?" I thought about the mounds of paperwork waiting for me in my office, the bi-weekly three-hour meetings around Kingsley's table, and how long it's been since I went out in the field (four months and six days, by my count).

"It'll look good if you'll have been an Auror five years at your time of application," he goes on smoothly. "That way, you'll have all those accolades left over from Hogwarts on top of actual long term experience."

"You think I should do it, then? Apply for the job?"

"Of course I do. Don't be dumb, Harry. You know you'd be brilliant at it."

"Or better than Lockhart, at least."

"Maybe you'll even be as good as Umbridge."

I swat at him. "Don't think that just because we're broken up you can start being an ass again."

"I never stopped. It's what you love very most about me."

"Of course it is, darling."

"I'm going to remind you of this every couple months," says Blaise. "Make sure you know that it's not always going to be memorandums and meetings and Hestia Jones' tendency not to shower when a big time case is underway."

"You say that like I already have the job," I say, shaking my head.

"You will." He shakes his head right back at me. "Honestly, Harry. Who else would it be?"


	7. Something Hasn't Felt Right

**August 2005**

I've learned a lot of things from Anthony.

How to kiss, for one thing. Jack was fine, and I liked pushing my lips against his and licking at the roof of his mouth, but Anthony, Anthony's an artist. He knows how to find the sensitive spots and how to milk them for all they're worth, and he knows how to do it over and over and over again. If a relationship were based on snogging and snogging alone, then we'd have been set for life. But it isn't, and we're not, though he hasn't quite worked that out yet.

I also found out about the religions that Muggles relied upon—specifically, Judaism. It makes sense, really, the security they find in having a belief system that doesn't have to do with wandlore or charms or dark arts. And while Anthony called himself a non-practicing cultural Jew (whatever that meant), he did like taking me to temple and introducing me around proudly as his boyfriend. It was endearing, really, how proud he was that we were together. Was, not is. There's not so much I find endearing anymore.

And there was, of course, much more than snogging and religion. There were fights, and how to win them, and Muggle board games, and how to win those, and, oh, I don't know, there had to be more important things than that, but I can't think of them, because I'm about to break up with Anthony and suddenly reflecting on all he's taught me doesn't seem like a very good idea.

"What's wrong?" Anthony asks. He's just walked into our flat. At least, it's our flat in the summers; I live on the Hogwarts grounds during the school year and Floo home on the weekends through a connection Minerva approved when Anthony and I first got together. She trusts me a lot, Minerva. Long way to come from losing the passwords to Gryffindor Tower when I was a third year.

"What do you mean?"

He sits next to me on the couch and, putting his hands on my shoulders, shifts my body such that he can rub my back. "You look tense. Like you're really worried about something."

The touch feels nice, as it always does, but I shrug it off and turn toward him. "I think we need to talk."

He puts a hand to his forehead. "I've been trying to figure out a way to prevent this conversation from happening for months. I can't anymore, can I?"

I shake my head. "Anthony, the two of us ... we've been really great together, but something hasn't felt right in a long time, has it?"

"I've wanted it to."

"That's not what I asked."

"No, it hasn't. It's like, I don't know." He takes one of my hands in both of his. "I love you, Neville. But it feels like you're not here anymore."

"I'm sorry, Anthony. I don't know what happened. I just don't feel committed to the idea of us anymore. I love you. I really do. But I don't think I love you the way you need me to."

"Neville..." He drops my hand and touches my face, cupping my chin and pulling me toward him. We kiss, a kiss that reeks of finality, a kiss that says goodbye.

"I wish ... I wish I could tell you that this can change, that I can change."

"It's alright. I mean, it's not. It's not alright at all. But it will be."

I swallow hard and brush my lips against his cheek. "I'm going back to school early. I'll be out of here tomorrow. I understand if you don't want to see me again."

"It's all I want. But it's better ... it's better if we don't."

I nod. "I'm going to stay at Ron and Hermione's tonight."

"I think that's a good idea." Anthony kisses me on the cheek, and I stand and gather my things. I lift my hand in a wave as I walk out the door, then turn on my heel and find myself on the Granger-Weasleys' front porch.

Hermione opens the door before I knock.

"Hopefully I didn't wake the kids," I say. "I always feel like Apparition's louder when I'm, well, a bit out of sorts."

She pulls me into a hug. "They're fine. How are you? How'd he take it?" Hermione, Ron, and I don't see each other more than a couple times a month, but I've kept her up on this development.

"I don't think I'll be seeing him for a while. He didn't cry. I was worried about that. I hate when he cries."

"You did the right thing," says Hermione. "You know that, right?"

I nod. "Is Ron home?"

"He's in the den. We're all going to drink now. At least, that's what Ron has admonished."

"I think that sounds like a brilliant idea."

"I was going to ask Harry along," she says as we walk into the den and Ron hands me a glass. "But I didn't know that you wanted to turn this into a social event."

"I appreciate it. How's he doing? He knows about the Defence opening, right?"

Ron nods. "Can't stop talking about it. He hasn't even had his first interview yet."

I wave my hand dismissively. "No way he's not getting it. Minerva's already talking like he's on staff."

"Good," says Hermione. "He really hasn't taken to the administrative part of being an Auror."

"Never thought I'd be better at something so brainy than he is," Ron says. "But you probably don't want to talk about Harry and his career ambitions, do you? You can talk about Anthony if you want."

"No, this is better," I say. "Takes my mind off things. You two always do."

"Hope that's a good thing," says Ron, grinning crookedly.

"It always has been," I assure him. "And it always will be. Now, who's up for a shot?"


	8. I Don't Know When But It Will

**December 2005**

"Happy Christmas."

George steps through the fireplace of Grimmauld Place, a crooked smile on his face. He's holding a poorly wrapped gift in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other.

"Hi, George," I say. "One, you're three days late. Two, you weren't at the Weasley family gathering. And three, you're here now. I hope you can understand why I'm a bit confused."

"Yeah, about that second one," he says, hands in his pockets, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. "No one'll talk about it, so I'll just lay it out for you: Percy thinks that I was going around with Audrey behind his back, and that's why they split."

"But you've been with Angelina for years."

"Yeah, well, that's not proof enough to the contrary for Perce, or Mum, or Bill and Fleur..." He trails off. "Ron and Hermione, and Dad, too, I think they all believe me. But they don't believe hard enough for me to feel comfortable at the Burrow right now."

"Well, come sit down," I say, and we walk further into the living room and settle down onto the couch together. "I did have a gift for you. It looks about as bad as yours for me does. Why do we even bother to try to wrap them without magic?"

He shrugs. "It seemed like a nice gesture. Here." He hands me my gift. I walk over to the tree, which I was planning on taking down this evening, but never mind that, and retrieve George's gift. I give it to him and we open them simultaneously.

"Oh, wicked, Harry, thanks!" I found George a biography of his all-time favorite Quidditch player, Kevin Broadmoor. "Where'd you get it?"

"Hidden in the back of Flourish & Blotts. I don't think they're particularly proud of their less academic titles."

"My gift's going to seem like crap now."

"How could you even say that?" I try on the crimson and gold Quidditch gloves. "These are brilliant. And they seem to know the size of my hands."

"They do. They're charmed to fit. You think I know how big or small your hands are?"

"Amazing. I love them. Thanks, George."

He gives me a salute and I can tell he's trying not to look too proud. "So, how are things in the life of Harry Potter?"

I summon a pair of glasses from the kitchen and George pours us drinks. "I ... don't know," I say with a laugh. "Fine, I suppose. I'm slated to work at Hogwarts starting next school year, so that's something to look forward to. But I don't know how I won't die of boredom before that."

"You really don't like being an Auror, do you?"

"It's great when it's fieldwork. It's crap when it's not."

"You'll be a wonderful professor."

I grin and clink my glass against his before taking another swig. "Thanks. I hope so. They're setting kind of a high standard there. I've heard Nev's incredible."

"It's a little strange how good he is at everything." George tugs at a loose thread on the sleeve of his jumper. "Angelina's cousin Mitchell's in Gryffindor right now, and he won't shut up about Herbology. Who knew that anyone who wasn't Neville could excited about that?"

"Well, a lot of it has to do with enthusiasm, right? Who was our best Defence professor?"

"Lupin," George says without thinking.

"And how excited was he about kicking boggarts' asses?"

He laughs. "Fair point. It's good to see you, Harry."

"We see each other all the time."

"Yeah? Like when?"

"Two weeks ago I ducked into the shop for at least three minutes over lunch."

George rolls his eyes. "We should make a habit of seeing each other for longer than that. I'm out a few brothers right now."

"I'm really sorry about all that."

He waves his hand dismissively. "It's fine. It'll die down eventually. How about you? Any birds or blokes caught your eye lately?"

"None. No one whatsoever. And I'm not even lying to you," I say before he can accuse me. "I haven't noticed anyone since, I don't know, Blaise, probably."

"And you didn't actually like Blaise that much, did you? Otherwise, mate, I'm not sure we can talk anymore."

I laugh. "He's not so bad."

"I know."

"And for the record, no. I didn't. Ginny was my first love and apparently my last."

"So endearingly melodramatic," George says, shaking his head. "She won't be. Alright?"

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Because you're too good a guy," he says, sounding matter of fact. "It happens for men like us, Harry. You just have to wait a while."

"I'm getting bored."

"Of course you are. You're the type. But I promise it'll happen for you. I don't know when. But it will."

"Until then..." I down my bourbon. "Let's drown our romance- and false infidelity-related sorrows in this uncommonly delicious liquor."

"Hear, hear." He pours another, hopefully the first of many refills.


	9. Real and True Disaster

**February 2006**

Disaster. Real and true disaster.

Anthony blinks at me from across the table. His hand is draped over mine, and he's trying to smile, but it's not working very well. He's not quite as handsome when he can't smile. I chide myself for thinking he's handsome at all. I'm supposed to be over this. More importantly, he's supposed to be over this. But here we are, half a year after breaking up at the same restaurant we went to at least once a month when we were together. That's a lot of share plates and a lot of bottles of wine we've had. But tonight, the wine goes untouched, and I can't eat a thing.

"How are you?" Anthony asks.

"Fine."

"How's teaching?"

"About the same as it was last time I saw you."

"You weren't teaching then," he reminds me.

"Ah, well, the same as when I was, then. I've got a really good group of third years this year. Fifth years, too. I just wish I felt like the seventh years were better practiced. N.E.W.T.s aren't so far away anymore."

He nods. "I was a wreck before my N.E.W.T.s. I bet some of them are just nervous."

"Why were you worried? You were brilliant in school."

"Not so brilliant that I couldn't mess up a test." Anthony smiles. "I'm glad you think so, though."

"So..." I drum my fingers on the table. "Why'd you want to go out again?"

His smile falters. "I just thought ... I thought we might see if anything had changed."

"Do you think it has?"

"I can't tell. You're hard to read, Neville. I can't tell if you even want to look at me right now."

"You're not so bad to look at."

He laughs. "And then you'll say something like that, and I don't know what to do with it."

"I'm sorry. Really, I am. I'm just, I'm not very good at this. I never have been. I wasn't ever good enough to you."

"That's not true at all. Don't ever think that." He looks at me seriously. "We were really, really good together. I loved you. I still do. I'm trying not to, but it's so hard."

"Oh, Anthony." I lace my fingers through his and squeeze. "I'm so sorry. If I could change my own feelings somehow, I would. And I love you. It's just not the same kind of love."

He squeezes back. "If it ever is ... and it's not going to be, but if it is, I want you to firecall me. I don't care what time of day it is. Just show up in my living room and wait until I get there. No matter who I'm with or what I'm doing, I'll still want you."

"Anthony..."

"Otherwise, though, I don't think we should see each other. You understand, right? It just hurts too much right now."

"Of course." I put some money on the table, stand, and take a step toward him so I can reach his cheek for a kiss. "See you when I see you."

"See you," he echoes as I turn around and walk out of the restaurant. I Apparate back to my quarters at Hogwarts. Hermione's already there.

"How did you—"

"You told me you were meeting him. Did you really think I wouldn't be waiting here for the rest of the evening?" She smiles wryly. "For being so smart, Neville, you can be quite thick sometimes."

"Want something to drink, since you're here? I need something. Thank God it's Saturday."

"You didn't drink at the restaurant?"

"I couldn't eat. That's what these are for." I hold up a bag of Malteasers.

"I'll have some of those and some champagne, if you have it."

I scoff. "If I have it."

"How'd it go, then? I'm so glad he's not here with you."

"Because it would've been out of pity?"

"Exactly."

"I'd never do that to anyone, let alone someone I love. And I do love him. I just don't love him the way he needs me to. And maybe I never have."

"I think you really did for the first year or so. But sometimes these things don't last. They can't last, not when one of you gives up. Not that you gave up," she rushes to say. "You know what I mean, right?"

"Of course. Surprised Ron's not here."

"He had a raid that lasted overnight and into the early afternoon today. Muggle artefact smuggling ring. He wanted to see you, too. He said it's been too long. You should come for dinner sometime."

"I'd like that."

"So do you need to talk about it more?"

I pause before saying, "No. I think I've said everything I need to say. I already moved on. Hopefully, he will, too. He did say..." I swallow hard. "He said I should firecall him if I ever change my mind. Said no matter who he's with or what he's doing, he'll still want me."

"Oh, Neville."

"I know. I wish so much that I could summon up some feelings for him somehow. But I can't."

"Is there anyone else?" she asks. "You don't have to answer that."

"I don't know if there is or not," I say, pushing the image of Harry Potter out of mind. "Maybe there will be sometime."

"I think there will. You're great, Neville. You know that, right?"

"Well, of course. I'm the most confident person you know."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Same old you, just a decade older and a lot better-looking. No offense to your adolescent self."

"None taken. I've gotten a lot more handsome, haven't I?"

"You have. But don't tell Ron I said so. He still gets nervous when I hang about with Harry on my own. He really shouldn't worry. Harry's hopeless at romance, though I'd never tell him that."

"We can start a lonely hearts club when he's at Hogwarts."

"It'd probably be good for both of you." She stands up. "I'm sorry, Neville, but I really should go. Molly has the kids and I ought to relieve her."

"It's fine. Thank you for being here."

"I always will be if you want me to be."

**Author's note: I feel pretty bad for what I'm putting Anthony Goldstein through. The guy can't seem to catch a break, can he? That's why I started writing "The Benecaust Charm." Go check it out.**


	10. Sounds Like A Plan

**August 2006**

How much better are staff meetings at Hogwarts than they were at the Ministry? So much. So, _so _much. There's always something new going on, Filius presenting research on Cheering Charms that leave us all grinning by the end of the hour, Hagrid sharing a story about the crup/kneazle hybrid that's running about England he swears he had nothing to do with, and Neville ... well, just Neville, really. Neville talking about the kid who tried to adopt a Mandrake, Neville recalling the time Luna Lovegood dragged him to the Isle of Wight to find a roving group of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Neville laughing his way through tales out of Hogwarts' hallowed halls. It's a reasonably warm day in July when he tells a story I remember all too well: the time I went to retrieve the Sorcerer's Stone and Hermione cast a Full Body Bind on him.

"So I put up my pudgy little fists and get into the most threatening position possible," he says. "And I tell the three of them that I'll fight them before I'll let them leave. And suddenly, terrifyingly, Hermione steps forward and apologizes before saying '_Petrificus Totalus_.' I woke up about 20 minutes later with wet pajama bottoms and a raging headache."

We're all in stitches as Neville sits back in his chair, sleeves half rolled up, robes long foregone in the midsummer heat. His brow is damp as he pushes his hair back out of his eyes and smiles at me, this trademark half-up curve of his that I've gotten used to seeing across the table in these weekly meetings. I notice the stubble at the corners of each of his lips and the way very slight lines appear around his eyes when his expression is at all happy, and that's when it occurs to me that, my God, I'm mad for Neville Longbottom.

Part of me is thinking that, well, it's about time. I've had nothing more than a fleeting crush on anyone since long before Blaise and I broke up (as you'll recall, I wasn't actually interested in him, just his mouth on occasion). For a while there, I was wondering if I'd remain celibate and bitter forever. But looking at Nev now, in his usual seat between the Potions professor I really hope isn't gay and Sinistra (still don't know her first name, funny, that), I'm far from bitter. I'm just flat out staring, gazing adoringly, even, hoping he has some idea, any idea of how fanciable he's become.

I wonder to myself what it'll take for me to let him know, make him figure out that I've just now realized I could fall in love with him if pressed. That thought on its own is terrifying so I push it away, opting instead to think about dating him, holding his hand, kissing his neck, reaching down his... I sidetrack myself from that, going back to kissing, maybe on the cheek, maybe on the lips until he's ready for more. I wonder what he's done before. I know from Hermione that he was with Anthony Goldstein for two years, and that they were quite serious. I bet he knows his way around the male anatomy better than I do, and I wonder what that could mean for me, for us, if anything were to happen.

Of course, I'm getting extremely ahead of myself as I struggle to pay attention to Minerva as she goes over the last minute details of the welcome feast. I've no idea what he's feeling, if he's even interested in a relationship and, if so, if that relationship could involve me. I think back to snatches of conversations here and there, times I thought that maybe he was paying a bit too much attention to me. Now I'd welcome those quips with open arms and an undone zip. I fight off a blush at the thought as Neville looks at me and gets that half smile on his face again.

Oh. There's something there. There's something there. I don't know exactly what it is, or where it'll go, if anywhere. But just seeing that expression, one that seems set aside just for me ... he has to be feeling something that's more than nothing. And for now, that'll be enough for me.

For now.

Minerva dismisses us. Nev is walking next to me as we exit the room.

"Lunch?" he asks. "David and I are going over to the Three Broomsticks."

I nod. "Sounds brilliant. Now?"

"Sure."

"I've got to go down to the dungeons first," says David. "I'll catch up in a few minutes."

Neville nods to me and we fall into step together as we leave the castle, taking the familiar path into Hogsmeade.

"You nervous?" he asks.

"What about?"

He laughs. "Teaching. It's next week, you know."

"Oh, right." I feel a bit silly but try to keep composure. "Not really, no. I'm mostly excited to have a job that doesn't involve mounds of paperwork."

"Grading essays doesn't count as paperwork, then?"

"No. Not the way memos and case closures do."

He gives a bit of a happy sigh. "I don't miss that at all."

"Neither do I. So, how have you been? We've seen each other around, but we haven't talked much outside meetings."

"We should make a habit of it. I miss my friend Harry." He grins lopsidedly at me. "Though it's not quite the same when we're not slaying snakes and Dark Lords together."

"And you're complaining?"

"Not in the slightest." He kicks at a pebble on the cobblestone road leading to the restaurant. "I've been good. Teaching's absolutely brilliant, which I'm sure you'll learn soon enough. How's it going with you? Seeing anyone?"

I laugh and try to convince myself that he's just being polite—no need to get my hopes up. "No, it would be safe to say I'm not very well practiced at dating. You?"

He shakes his head. "No one since my last boyfriend. And that was a couple years ago, too." We've never talked about Anthony. I've never even heard Nev say his name, and I don't want to make him now. Hell, I don't know if he has any idea I was ever with Blaise. May as well put that discussion off for the time being. "Shall we journey into bachelorhood together?"

"Sounds like a plan," I say, clapping him on the shoulder and desperately wanting to journey into something else entirely.


	11. I Suppose It's Worth A Try

**October 2006**

"It's terrible and I hate it. Why does he always have to sit across from me at staff meetings? Why does he have to have that stupid little smile he does whenever I try to say something funny? And don't tell me I'm actually funny. I'm not. He's pretending. To toy with me. He's pretending in order to mess with my mind."

David looks bewildered. "God, Neville. I've never heard you talk so fast. Or so madly."

"Well, it's driving me mad, alright?" I place my head in my hands. We're having tea on a Friday afternoon, the day after my fifth weekly dinner at Ron and Hermione's with the two of them, their children, and Harry. Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry—it seems that there's something of some kind going on with him, but it's impossible to tell for sure with someone so friendly as he is. "I have no idea if he's flirting with me, or he has any interest in me at all. Does he treat me differently, David? Differently from how he acts around you or, I don't know, Minerva?"

He laughs. "I seriously doubt he's interested in Minerva."

"You know what I mean."

"Honestly? I don't want to get your hopes up here, but yes. It's absurd, the way you dance around each other."

"How do you mean? Enlighten me. Because I obviously can't see it."

"Well, he touches you all the time." David reaches across the table and lays his hand on my arm. "Like this. 'Good story, Nev.'" He moves his hand to my shoulder and squeezes. "Or this. 'How's it going, Nev?'" He pulls my hand toward his lips and kisses it, loudly and theatrically. "Or, you know, that. All the time."

I laugh. "I don't think he's been kissing my hand much lately. Or ever."

"The other stuff, though, always, every meeting, every time I'm with you and we run across him in the hallways. And he's jealous of me, right? He kind of gets this look like, 'Oh, how terrible that he has this friend who's male and diverting attention from me.'"

"No."

"Yes! And then there's the nickname."

"Nickname?"

David rolls his eyes. "Have you ever once heard me call you 'Nev?' No one does that, Neville. Just him."

"Well, he always has. Since school."

"So maybe he was mad for you then, too."

"I doubt that. Oh, sod it. I don't even know if he's straight or gay or both or what. I should just get over it."

"There's no way that's going to happen."

"You don't think I'm capable of controlling my own emotions?"

"Frankly, no."

"Thanks."

He rolls his eyes at me again. "It's not a bad thing to be a genuine person, you know. Honestly, why don't you do something about it? And before you do anything about it, have you been sleeping?"

"Yes." I pause. "Wait, yes, mostly. Mostly I've been sleeping. I didn't last night, because I was working on lesson plans till 2 in the morning, and then it just didn't seem worth it, sleeping, since I hadn't yet gone over in my mind every distinct movement Harry made during dinner at Ron and Hermione's. Oh, did I tell you Rose can say his name now? She can say every letter of the alphabet now."

"That's lovely. Less lovely, the part where you're not sleeping. Just a minute here." David stands up and walks over to a cabinet in his quarters. I've got the same one. Rummaging through the cabinet, he comes up with a stoppered purple potion.

"Right," he says, sitting back down and handing me the potion.

"I thought that cabinet was for liquor."

"Of course you did. That's a nerve tonic. _Neurcura_, it's called, not that you'll care about that at all. I want you to drink half of it now and half of it before you go to sleep tonight. I'm not giving you any more than that, because it can be habit forming."

"I don't form habits!"

"I won't mention last year's licorice wand phase."

"You just did."

"Right, I did." David grins and shakes his head. "Really, Neville—should I call you 'Nev?'"

"I'd rather you not."

"Right. That's a special thing you've got going with him."

"You are the single biggest git I have ever met. And I've met Voldemort."

"Anyway, really, Neville, you just need to sit back and calm down and, next time Harry's about to put his hands all over you and tell you how funny you are, you say you're interested in him. OK?"

"OK. Sure. No, wait. I don't think I can do that."

"It's a good thing I like you so much. Otherwise I'd hate you for how incredibly thick you are when it comes to this."

"I was an alright boyfriend once. I made Anthony a garden. Have I told you that?" He shakes his head. "Well, I did. For his birthday. I convinced our landlord to let me use a tiny bit of the yard behind our building, and I put together all the greenhouse flowers and plants he'd complimented the most. And I set up a picnic back there, and I even made him lunch."

"You cooked?"

"It was sandwiches and crisps, but I did special order his favorite butterbeer. Rosmerta owed me a favor. He said it was the best birthday present he'd ever gotten. I wonder if the flowers are still alive."

David puts his hand on my shoulder. "You'd be a brilliant boyfriend for Harry."

"God, I hope so."

"Just _do _something, won't you?"

I knock half the tonic back and wash it down with chamomile. "I suppose it's worth a try."


	12. Better Late Than Never

**November 2006**

It's a Saturday night and I'm looking to do anything but grade a stack of essays when I see Neville rushing to eat dinner in the Great Hall.

"Hey, Nev. What are you up to tonight?"

"Babysitting Rose and Hugo," he says. "Hermione knew you had essays to grade, so she asked me instead of you."

"How did she know that?"

"How does she know anything?"

"Fair question," I say. "Could you use a hand, though? There aren't really that many essays. Getting the kids to bed isn't easy, I know. Not to say that you're not prepared for that."

"I'd appreciate the help," says Nev, smiling. "We can Floo from my quarters. How'd Ron and Hermione get that connection approved, anyway?"

"Another question for the ages."

The children behave about as well as I've ever seen them. Neville says it's stemming from the excitement of getting Uncles Harry and Neville to themselves for once. I play countless rounds of Exploding Snap with Hugo, who's just learning, while Nev reads to Rose from Beedle the Bard.

"You can read runes?" I look up from the game to ask.

"Not at all. Ron needed to get a rune-free copy in case story time was ever on him."

"Neville, read," says Rose, sounding impatient.

"Hey, that's Uncle Neville to you." He smoothes back her hair and looks over at me, grinning. Damn, it's those palpitations again. My pathetic crush has not at all died down since before school started; on the contrary, it gets a little bit worse every day. A lot of the time, it seems like Nev reciprocates, but there's no real way of knowing unless I ask. Or snog him, or something. And I plan to tonight, because if I'm going to skive off work anyway, I might as well do it for a valid reason.

It doesn't take long for both kids to get too tired to stay up any longer. We split off, with Neville getting the cushy job of sticking Rose in her comically tiny toddler bed and me having to put up with Hugo asking for a glass of water, a hug, a kiss on both cheeks, a short bedtime story, and another glass of water.

I join Neville on the couch in the den after Hugo's had his fill of attention and nodded off. Taking the remote from the end table, I switch over to a _Top Gear _rerun.

"I love this show," says Nev.

"I know," I say. "It's like they take something that could be completely uninteresting and make it brilliant." Now seems as good a time as any to start making my intentions completely and totally obvious. "Also, Richard Hammond's pretty fit."

Since I already know Neville's gay, his next statement isn't mind blowing, but it's still refreshing as a reminder. "Definitely. Even James has his appeal."

"Richard's at his best when his hair is short like this," I say. "I've always preferred short hair to long." Though I clearly have no issues with being obvious, I avoid looking pointedly at Nev's head until he unconsciously runs his hand through his short brown hair. I laugh.

"Yes, Nev. Hair like yours." I move a bit closer to him on the couch and put my arm around his shoulders. "Is this OK?" All Neville does is nod, and I laugh nervously. "Can you say something?"

"Sure. I can't promise I'll shut up, though," he says. "Harry, I ... I've had a crush on you since we were 15." I feel my eyes widen, even though Hermione's said something about this before, but Nev doesn't seem to notice as he stares straight ahead. "I've been hoping for months that one or the other of us would do something about it, because I was starting to think you felt the same way. But I could never be sure. You're just so nice and sweet to everyone."

"More so to you than anyone else," I say softly. "I really like you, Neville. I have since the staff meeting where you talked about the time Hermione cast the Full Body Bind on you."

He leans against my shoulder and I take in the feeling of him, the heat of this body I've come to love looking at finally resting against mine.

"So ... I don't know what we do now," he says. "I haven't dated anyone in over a year. Do you want to give this a go, Harry? Do you want to give us a go?"

I nod, a bit shaky from the excitement and the newness of it all. Nev moves even closer to me and I sigh, a happy, deep sigh like I haven't done in years. "We can go as slow as you need to."

"That might be pretty slow," he says. "Things didn't end too well with Anthony."

"Goldstein?" As if there's another, and as if I didn't know, but I'm sure Neville won't mind this little white lie.

"Yeah. I just wasn't as invested as he was, I guess, and he took it really hard, hard enough that we tried to keep things going long past when we should've. He doesn't talk to me anymore."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not. It's not healthy to hang on to that kind of thing, unless it's right."

"Do you think..." I pause and look at him. "Do you think this could be right?"

He looks back up at me. "I hope so."

I lean down and brush my lips against his softly. He takes the initiative then, kissing me deeply. It doesn't take long till we're snogging and he's on my lap. Nev takes off my glasses and says, "You have gorgeous eyes, you know."

"You have gorgeous everything," I say, and it's true. The brown eyes flecked with green, the soft brown hair my fingers are now running through, the strong line of his jaw... I lean in to kiss it and hear laughter. Neville hands me back my glasses after all but throwing himself off my lap and back next to me on the couch.

"Took you both long enough, didn't it?" Hermione's looking at us, head cocked, an amused expression on her face. Ron's laughing.

"All it takes is _Top Gear_ and your children," I say with a grin. I reach over to Nev, take his hand, and give it a squeeze. "We should've tried this months ago."

"Better late than never," says Neville before kissing me on the cheek.

"If you could tone it back in front of the kids..." Ron starts before Hermione cuts him off with a punch on the arm. His face reddens. "Not because they're gay! Come on, Hermione, we hardly even kiss in front of them!"

"But we're not nearly this cute," she says.

"Well, that's certainly true on his end," I say, resisting the urge to kiss Neville again.

"You two should get out of here," Hermione says. "Finish your business somewhere else. What do we owe you?"

"Nothing," I say. "This is more than enough payment."


	13. Author's Note and Playlist

And thus concludes the makeshift trilogy. OR DOES IT?

As you may have noticed, I quite like this particular narrative. As such, I'll be starting a series of drabbles, "The Ballad of Neville and Harry," that I'll update whenever I feel like venturing back to these two.

Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it, and the way I continued to expertly avoid writing smut.

-fennecfawkes

This story's playlist, in no particular order:

Jens Lekman, "A Postcard for Nina"

She & Him, "Your Sentimental Heart"

Noah & the Whale, "L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N."

Ida Maria, "Oh My God"

The Decemberists, "The Rake's Song"

The cast of _The Muppets,_ "Man or Muppet"

Rilo Kiley, "Spectacular Views"

Bright Eyes, "First Day of my Life"

College/Electric Youth, "A Real Hero"

Sufjan Stevens, "Vito's Ordination Song"

Saturday Looks Good to Me, "When You Got to New York"

The cast of _City of Angels_, "You're Nothing Without Me"

The _Top Gear _Bolivia special

Seasons two and three of _The Vampire Diaries_


End file.
